


Left Behind

by keirajo



Series: The Mercenary Alliance [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, F/M, Mysterious Past, Mystery, former relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23402806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keirajo/pseuds/keirajo
Summary: While doing some errands in Selenium--Flamewar very literally runs into a very young Hot Rod.   As well as her former police partner and lover, Prowl.   A small chain of events opens up a curious little package into the past of a very young Cybertronian.   Now that she's a mercenary, officially, Flamewar can't resist a little mystery.
Relationships: Past relationship - Relationship, Prowl/Flamewar
Series: The Mercenary Alliance [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1512947
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Like "The Price", I put a few things (and relationships) here that I'd like to keep exploring throughout this series of short, stand-alone stories. :)
> 
> Rated T+ for the fact that they use some adult language like "fragging", though I could probably make this general. XD

**_ Left Behind _ **

The city of Selenium on Cybertron was considered to be fairly average when compared to many other cities on Cybertron. It had no natural geological formations, no special buildings and no primary inhabitant focus. However, if you wanted to do shopping and get things at a decent price, rather than with the inflated prices that a place like Trixatron might have—then Selenium was the place to go.

That was where Flamewar happened to be today, to stock up on some necessities (and maybe a few things that weren’t quite “ _necessary_ ”) on her way back to Torux. She opened the hatch on the back of her four-wheeled ATV and began to place her purchases inside when she was almost knocked over by someone coming from behind her. Her head banged the roof of the hatch and she caught herself on the edge of the trunk before spinning about to yell at whomever had collided with her.

She saw a crying youngling, who was yelling obscenities and running away. He had very bright colors and those were traditional to most born in Selenium. Then she saw who the youngling was yelling at and realized she couldn’t really fault the kid for running away, after all Prowl wasn’t the easiest of mechs to get along with in **_99.999999%_** of the circumstances.

“ _Wow_ , Prowl—no adults to pick on, now you have to lecture _bratlings_?” Flamewar laughed, reaching back to close the hatch on her ATV and then leaned against it to look at the black-and-white colored Autobot stomping in her general direction.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” Prowl grunted, stopping in front of her and folding his arms across his chest.

“He knocked me into the trunk of my ATV and I didn’t even see him until he was running away. _Why?_ Why on Cybertron are you after a bratling?” The black-and-dark red colored femme chuckled, posing her body as teasingly as possible on the backside of her vehicle.

“ ** _I_** could care less about him, but Prime told me to take care of him while he talks to the local government,” the black-and-white mech muttered, shaking his head. “Frankly, I don’t know why Prime’s taken a liking to the bratling. He does nothing but whine and cry. _He’s an orphan_ —he should be glad someone like Prime wants to take him in!”

Now **_that_** was interesting and delicious news. _Optimus Prime_ —the commanding General of the Autobot military force—wanted an orphan youngling from the streets of Selenium? There had to be a very good reason for plucking a child off the streets for the leader of one of the two huge warring military units on Cybertron. Flamewar pushed herself off the edge of her ATV and leaned in towards Prowl.

“Tell you what,” she purred, leaning on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck-cabling lightly. “Make it worthwhile for me and _I’ll_ get your bratling back for you.”

“With you, I can never tell whether you want shanix or sex,” Prowl groaned, reaching up to facepalm himself.

“Either way, I’m _usually_ within your price range,” the black-and-dark red femme chortled, pulling away and walking around to the front of her vehicle. She ensured it was locked down and attached to the parking pole.

Prowl made a weird sound in his vocalizer and Flamewar laughed.

“C’mon, you _know_ I’m good at looking for things—that’s why we were a good team back in Iacon, before all this Autobot and Decepticon nonsense started,” the femme chuckled, warmly. She remembered how they were a great detective team on Iacon’s police force—such a long time ago now, it seemed.

Then Prowl joined with a group called the Autobots in Iacon when other Cybertronians gathered together in the south and began to call themselves Decepticons. Flamewar wasn’t happy with a new partner or working on the police force anymore, since Iacon became more militarized as the Autobots rose in power there. So, she left the police force and went to Torux and became a member of the Mercenary Alliance. Her skills in tracking down things and hunting information came in very useful in her new job—she was often given missions that other mercenaries didn’t have the fine skills for. She rose up to an “ _S_ ” rank very quickly, but **_only_** in specialized hunting missions—other missions that might involve bodyguarding or assassination she didn’t have a higher rank for qualifying for those missions, she was only a “ _B_ ” rank on missions that would require such physicality or brutality.

“Yes. _That’s_ why I’ll let you look for Hot Rod,” Prowl responded, placing a servo on his hip and rubbing his temple with the other one. “He’ll keep running from me if I try to keep an optic on him. Maybe he’ll respond better to a femme.”

“His designation’s _‘Hot Rod’_ —that is really adorable,” Flamewar chuckled warmly.

“Watch out for his arms—he can’t really control it yet, but the piping on his arms have piercer lasers in them,” the black-and-white Autobot said, locking gazes with his former partner.

“A born fighter. _How cute!_ ” The dark-colored femme said with a grin over at the Autobot. “Don’t worry you fussy oldmech, I’ll get your bratling back before Prime’s done with the city council.” She sauntered over to Prowl and then gave him a kiss on his cheekplate. “Just make it worth my while— _like you used to_ ,” she purred, using her glossa to give him a playful lick along the side of his faceplate.

Prowl gave a grunt, but the ridges beneath his optics seemed to flare with a light pink flush.

* * * * *

Flamewar found the brightly-colored youngling poking around trash receptacles around an abandoned old building. When she came around the front, she saw the building was a modest little church honoring Primus. It must’ve been a local little gathering place before the larger citadel had been built in the center of Selenium.

“ _C’mon Sunny………. **where are you**? It………it hasn’t been **that long**_ ………” the youngling whined, grabbing onto the top of a much-taller-than-him trash receptacle. He hefted himself up and poked his head and shoulders into the wastebin. “ ** _Suuuuuunnnnnyyy!!!_** ” He cried into the wastebin, the tone in his voice sounding very sad and hurt.

Flamewar tilted her head and watched Hot Rod try to climb a couple more trash receptacles and listened to his crying for someone named “ _Sunny_ ”. Was that another youngling? Maybe another street orphan? Whoever this “ _Sunny_ ” was—Hot Rod missed them terribly, you could hear it in his vocalizer with every cry of the name into a wastebin. She finally walked over and grabbed him lightly by the back of the neck, the youngling froze and stared at her in shock.

“Don’t you think you should apologize for bumping into me and nearly knocking me into my trunk?” Flamewar chuckled warmly, setting him down next to the trash receptacle he was rooting through.

“Why’d you come all this way for **_that_**?!” Hot Rod whined loudly. “ _Just leave me alone! I’m looking for something!_ ” He snapped, stomping over to yet another wastebin in the alleyway and climbed up to the edge of it. “ ** _Suuunnnnnyyy!!!_** _Where are you, Sunny!?_ ” He yelled into the bin.

“Tell me what your friend looks like and I’ll help you find them—though I doubt they’ll be inside of trash receptacles,” the dark-colored femme chuckled, walking over to the flame-colored youngling.

“ _You don’t know Sunny!_ ” Hot Rod snapped, glaring at Flamewar angrily. “ _She’s **the prettiest** turbofox in the entire universe!_” The flame-colored youngling said, very proudly.

_Friends? **With a turbofox?**_ Those things were feral nuisances who only entered into cities because they discovered what a treasure trove that trash receptacles were, for leftover fuel and snackfuel. But, then, a streetrat could probably find some level of a symbiotic relationship with a feral pest.

“Look, _Hot Rod_. Turbofoxes aren’t pets, they’re **_pests_** ……….and if you knew one, I can guarantee she wasn’t any kind of friend,” Flamewar said, seriously. “If you fed her, she was only sticking with you for the fuel,” the femme added, shaking her head lightly.

Hot Rod kicked Flamewar in the shin really hard and then ran off and was out of sight before the femme could see which direction he had fled in. The black-and-dark red colored femme walked up to the end of the alleyway and looked both ways down the road. Then she looked up at the rundown old church.

“ _He lived here_. But how did he get in—where the little streetrat’s hole?” Flamewar murmured, standing on the sidewalk and looking all over the front face of the worn-down little church. Then she saw a broken-out piece of window and window frame on the second floor of the small building. It was small enough for a youngling like Hot Rod and was _definitely_ small enough for a turbofox. “Well, I can’t fit through _that_ , no matter how delightfully thin and curvy my frame is—I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

The dark-colored femme walked up to the sealed old door and ran a servo along the edges carefully. She flicked the wrist of her free servo and a lock-diffusing tool. She knelt and slowly drew the tool over the lockpiece plating of the old, sealed door. The ancient lock made an electrical popping sound and then she felt the door loosen and slide back slowly, with a light grating sound. Flamewar stood up and entered the old church and stood quietly in the main gathering area, looking around.

That meant the second floor was either for storage or the priest that once held this church must have had a small set of quarters up there. Either way, it was probably where Hot Rod had been recharging for most of his streetrat life. But did the youngling have an easier a life before **_this_**? He surely wasn’t born into poverty—all the governments of every city made sure that sparklings, whether born (an incredible rarity) or forged (how most Cybertronians were born), they had the care they needed to grow and become a part of Cybertronian society. And just how old was he? _He had to be ten revolutions or less!_ And how many of those revolutions did he live on the street for?

Flamewar located the ladder up to the second floor area and climbed up, carefully lifting the hinged door that lead up into that area. She saw the youngling pretty easily in the dim light coming in through the window and the hole in the edge around it. He was huddled on the floor of the odd living area, crying.

“Look, kiddo—I _wasn’t_ trying to be mean, but…….” the femme began, crawling over to the area where Hot Rod was laying. There wasn’t enough room for her to stand up whatsoever in this low-ceilinged living area. “Why don’t you tell me more about your Sunny and how you met her? Maybe I can help you find her?” Flamewar said, rubbing Hot Rod’s back lightly. The odd fins that looked a little bit like wings made her think he would likely have an odd vehicular alt mode one day. He already had wheel-shapes in his arms and legs.

Hot Rod just climbed into her lap and sobbed into her chestplate, Flamewar felt a pang for the youngling— _he was really upset about this_. **_About a turbofox!_** She shook her head and sighed softly to herself, hugging the flame-colored youngling and stroked his helm soothingly. There was more to this than a mere turbofox—just **_what_** did Optimus Prime want with this youngling? _How long_ had Hot Rod been on his own, on the streets, so that he formed a bond with a turbofox?! It had to be long enough to forget his guardian or guardians—or sire and carrier if he’d actually been born, rather than forged—because to him, this turbofox was the _only_ family he had. So, Hot Rod had to have been _very little_ when he was orphaned.

“Hot Rod—how long have you been living in this little church?” Flamewar asked when she felt his frame relax a little more against her, the crying had finally stopped.

The flame-colored youngling held up a servo and started mumbling as he counted revolutions on his digits. “ _Um_. I guess……… _kinda like_ ………maybe six revolutions? Maybe seven? _‘S been awhile_ ,” the mechling murmured.

If he were less than ten revolutions, he’d been orphaned when he was younger two revolutions or so—how had the sparkling survived?

“When the church closed up, the priest said he found me left at the front door. I don’t remember that. He took care of me for a while, but then he got really sick and………..and he never came back from the clinic,” Hot Rod mumbled, listening to Flamewar’s Spark-spin in her chest.

_That explained **that**_. This priest made sure he was fueled properly and recharged regularly, while he lived there. But _why_ hadn’t the priest taken Hot Rod to a government assistance facility _? It would’ve been the proper thing for anyone to do!_ This was a strange little mystery and clearly Hot Rod had no idea how strange this was for his life to have been like this, he thought it was normal and acted normally—when separated from the only family he had ever known (in this case, a turbofox), he went looking for them, like any normal person would do. So, just what did Optimus Prime have to do with all of this and _why did he pick out Hot Rod_? Why had the priest clearly been protecting him for several revolutions?

All of the sudden, there was a “ _thud_ ” and scrambling sound from near the window. Then a small, sleek little shape crept in through the hole in the window area. It was a rusty-red and pink turbofox—femme, then.

“ ** _Sunny!_** ” Hot Rod said, excitedly, crawling out of Flamewar’s lap and scrambling over towards the feral animal.

The turbofox’s blue optics looked him over for a minute, then she hunched up her back and snarled, right before turning on her paw-pedes and scrambling back out the hole in the window area.

“ _Sunny_ ……..” Hot Rod sobbed. “ _Why?_ ” 

“Hot Rod, turbofoxes are _wild creatures_. She stayed with you because of a symbiotic relationship you two had—you gave her food and she returned that favor with her company,” Flamewar responded, grabbing the flame-colored youngling lightly around the waist and backing towards the opening down into the church area. “Now that you’re gone, _she has to feed herself_ —so, there’s no reason to give you company anymore.”

“ _That’s not fair!_ ” Hot Rod wailed, sadly.

Flamewar wasn’t even going to mention that it looked like the turbofox was going to bear a litter of kitlings any day now. She hopped down to the church floor and set Hot Rod down next to her.

“I hate to say this to someone as young as you, with such a long life to look forward to, but…… _yeah_ …….it’s **_not_** fair,” the dark-colored femme said, placing her servos on her hips. “ _Life sucks a whole lot of the time._ But there will be good times, too—if you go to the Autobots now, you’ll even make some new friends in Iacon.”

“ _I don’t wanna, **I don’t wanna**!_” Hot Rod wailed, his crying getting louder in the large, open chamber.

Flamewar knelt beside the youngling and gently placed a servo underneath his chin. “Life has a lot more to offer you, Hot Rod—you should try to open your optics to the bigger world all around you,” the black-and-dark red colored femme said, her voice soft and soothing. “There will be _friends_ —and maybe some people who won’t exactly be friends. You’ll get to learn a lot of new things and see a lot of new places—more than a small, broken church in a cozy little city,” she added, reaching over and hugging the youngling warmly. “ _It’s scary_ —entering a completely different world, but you can do it,” she said, softly as the youngling clung to her desperately.

“ ** _I_** ……..I guess I’ll _try_ ,” the flame-colored mechling mumbled as they both pulled away from the hug, mutually.

“All right, then—it’ll be faster if we drive. _So_!” Flamewar chuckled, stepping away a few feet and transforming into her motorcycle alt mode. “Climb up and hang on to my handlebars, I promise I won’t drive _too fast_!” She chortled as the mechling looked at her in absolute surprise. “One day, you’ll find your alt mode, too.”

* * * * *

As soon as Flamewar was able to locate Prowl again, she found him with the current Leader of the Autobots, Optimus Prime—a large mech with the colors of blue, white and red. It was hard to tell what the tall mech was thinking, because a facial shield over half of his faceplate blocked most expressions that could be made with the mouth. But both of their fields were a little bit annoyed and a whole lot worried.

“Come on, Prowl—don’t tell me you didn’t think I could find him!” Flamewar chuckled as she waited for Hot Rod to hop off of her and then transformed back into her primary mode. “Even as a mercenary now, I _do_ still manage to keep my detective skills sharp!” She laughed, placing her servos on her hips and grinned at her former partner and his new commanding officer.

Hot Rod walked up to Optimus Prime and shuffled his pedes—his small EM field was full of embarrassment and regret. “ _Sorry I ran away_ ,” the flame-colored mechling mumbled, softly.

“I am just glad that you’re all right, Hot Rod,” the red-white-blue mech said, warmth in his voice as he knelt down to be closer to the youngling’s height. “Are you ready to go to Iacon with us?” He asked.

“Yeah. _Maybe_. I guess,” Hot Rod sighed. “I don’t know anyone there! **_I_** …..!” He began, desperately, looking up into Optimus Prime’s blue optics. “I guess I’ll get to know them, right?” He trailed off, kicking one pede anxiously against the ground.

“You’ll get to know lots of new and interesting people,” Optimus Prime said, chuckling softly. He carefully picked the mechling up and settled him in one arm. “We do need to go and get you checked out from the city officials, for health and safety purposes. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“ _’Kay_ ,” Hot Rod murmured. “ _’Bye, Flamewar! I hope we meet again one day!_ ” He called, craning his head around Optimus Prime’s broad shoulder to wave at her and smile.

“I hope so, too, kiddo!” Flamewar chuckled, waving at the mechling and smiled after them.

“Find out anything _interesting_?” Prowl asked, approaching her as his commanding officer walked off. Clearly he was “ _off-duty_ ” now that the flame-colored mechling had been found.

“You’re _sure_ you don’t know why Optimus Prime picked up the kid?” The dark-colored femme asked, looking at her former partner and lover very seriously.

“ _No_. I really **_don’t_** ,” Prowl said, his tone sounding a bit miffed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“ _Well_ …………come along with me—somewhere not out on the street. I have a hunch and it may change the way you treat the kid,” Flamewar said, patting his shoulder fondly.

They looked for a daily rental hab and took a room for the evening. Flamewar flopped back onto the berth and posed for Prowl. He simply grunted and folded his arms over his chest. _Business before pleasure, **as always**_ —her former partner and lover could be so predictable sometimes.

“The very least you could do is at least _join me here_ —it’s rather disconcerting to see you glaring at me like I’m a criminal or a suspect,” the dark-colored femme sighed, scooting back on the berth, up to the pillows and taking a sitting up posture, grabbing a pillow and placing it over her chest before folding her arms tightly to it.

The black-and-white mech sighed deeply and climbed onto the berth, sitting beside her and placed the other pillow into his lap and twined his servos to rest on top of it. “No fragging until we’ve got all this out of the way—and honestly, a trip to the washracks first would be good for the both of us,” the Autobot said, very seriously.

“Hey, it’s _fun_ to do it in the ‘racks,” Flamewar laughed, warmly, butting her shoulder up against his with fondness.

Prowl made another funny little sound in his vocalizer. Flamewar always found it fun to tease Prowl—he was always _so serious_. It was another reason they made good partners in the police force—the opposite of one another, it was easy for them to often play the “ _good cop, bad cop_ ” routine. But when Prowl gave you his attention—he meant it and every action, passionate or otherwise, that came with it.

“Hot Rod told me he was abandoned on the little community church doorstep when he was a sparkling. I’m _surmising_ this, but likely before he was even two revolutions, since he says he also doesn’t remember it at all,” the dark-colored femme said, softly, leaning her head on the Autobot’s shoulder. “He’s _gotta_ be less than ten revolutions, I think. The priest took care of him after taking him in and the church was shuttered, but sometime the priest got sick and went to the clinic and never returned. After that, Hot Rod was on his own and he befriended a turbofox, which was his _only family_ these last few revolutions—he ran away to go back to find her.”

Prowl reached up with a servo and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“You do realize, that priest _never_ took him to any authorities—and why do you suppose that is?” Flamewar inquired, lifting her head from Prowl’s shoulder and looked into his faceplate searchingly.

“I’m more curious at how he befriended a little pest like a turbofox—they scatter around people,” Prowl chuckled, the first tone of amusement she’d heard from him yet today.

“I’ll admit, I’m curious about that, too—however, the turbofox showed up while we were there in the church and she ran from him. She was also heavy with kitlings, so I think her natural instincts overrode any feelings she might’ve had for the kid,” the black-and-dark red femme sighed, shaking her head.

“But you **_do_** have a point about the priest. Not just that—abandoned on the church steps meant whomever placed Hot Rod there at a church that was closing down had a _specific reason_ why they did so,” Prowl added, finally wrapping an arm about Flamewar’s waist and pulled her close. “ ** _Someone_** didn’t want him to fall into government custody. That brings up a whole new datapacket of questions. Is Prime hiding some of this from me? Does he know more than he’s told me?”

Flamewar made a little humming sound as she leaned her head back on his shoulder and thought about it some more. However, Prowl was right, every question they asked about the whole situation around Hot Rod just brought up a dozen more questions. What seemed to be an orphaned mechling living on the streets looked like it was some deeper kind of mystery………in an innocent little city like Selenium.

“I’ll spend some time looking into it, as I have the freedom to do so,” Prowl said. Then he pushed Flamewar’s head off of his shoulder and cupped her chin, leaning in to kiss her. “Why don’t we go take that shower and enjoy a little time together before we part ways again, _mmm_?” He murmured, brushing his lips along her jawline and flicked his glossa lightly over her facial ridges.

“Now **_that_** sounds like the most fantastic idea I’ve heard all day!” Flamewar laughed warmly, scooting back off the berth, posed seductively and then dashed for the washracks with an amused giggle.

Prowl gave a light laugh, got up from the berth, and followed her.

**Author's Note:**

> Just as they decide to let us come back to work...……….they might send us back home again in another day or so. *headdesk*


End file.
